Krenzik's War II Part 3
by TheManipulator
Summary: Jay and his mechanics realize too late that a clandestine shipment from their cargo hold could spell disaster for the fleet when Royan Jahee, leader of the surrender movement comes aboard.


Krenzik's War II: Part 3

Author: Manipulator

Rating: M

Word Count: 3671

Spoilers: "Epiphanies"

Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica is property of NBC/Universal

Notes: If you haven't read "Krenzik's War" parts 1-8, "Shadows and Reflections," and the first two parts of "Krenzik's War II" you should go back and do that before reading this.

I

"Hey, Krenzik," Bobby shouted down from the catwalk. "We got a problem with the delivery."

I hadn't been sleeping well in recent weeks, I'd been hoping to hide behind making up the current trade schedule, hunting down parts we were short on, and a huge pot of coffee. No such luck that morning.

"What is it," I called up to him. How hard could this shit be? A couple people were coming by on a civvie shuttle for one of Phelan's mystery crates. Occasionally we'd dump off our wares directly to the customer, no questions asked. It was gravy duty, in fact, to hang out by the airlock with your shoulder holster strapped on. Hell, I'd been thinking about letting Candi do it a couple times, as soon as she could prove she was able to tear her weapon down and reassemble it.

"They won't leave their guns at the door. The one guy got all pissed off and told Nick to let him talk to the guy in charge."

I groaned, nodding. "Okay, okay, I'll be up in a minute. Tell 'em…not to do anything, or something."

I massaged my temples, which didn't do much good considering it was my neck that ached. I returned to my quarters, strapped on my sidearm, looking over my bed, with the covers balled up in the middle. Every night when the lights had gone out, my mind was filled with the little faces, and Phelan's sneer, as we shook hands, and I became his bitch for the long haul. I wondered what became of the children I let go into slavery so Diana, and the Lady's crew could live. I had risked everything for a scrawny girl with big eyes that I barely knew. How did Candi Suvius sleep at night?

Overboiled coffee steamed from the shiny steel tank at the edge of the Lina's lunch line. I actually felt blessed that it hadn't achieved the consistency of oil as the black stuff sloshed into my cup. I sniffed, my nostrils taking in the definite aroma of last night.

"Hey, Jay," Lina shouted from the back. "Got Nick on the phone. Says he's wondering when you're gonna get over to the hold."

"Five minutes later than he wants," I grunted, sipping.

"He's on his way, Nick." She hung up, wiped her hands on her apron. "Whatcha think of the coffee," she asked me.

"Well--"

"If you don't like it, don't frakkin' drink it." Lina turned her back, cutting off any response, one of her pruned hands grasping a wet mop from its bucket.

"You're just a ray of sunshine in my gloomy day, Miss Lina," I said.

I heard her shout back, as I left through the doubledoors: "You godsdamn right!"

Over the catwalk, and I heard only the empty hum of electricity, the circuits and steel that kept us level and moving through space. Everyone else was out, except Candi and Ed. If either one of them was doing what I told them, he was showing our newjack welder how the still worked. If Ed was following my directions to the letter, he wouldn't let all 96 pounds of Candi taste test too much, either. Oh, I forgot Marty. Marty was down in his hole--the FTL room. It was tough to remember he was even on board until after lunch, when his all-consuming diagnostics and documentation indicating the hyperdrive wasn't about to blow were done. The only reason I recalled him then, was because he popped up through the hyperdrive room's hatch, waving a lanky arm up to me.

"Uh, hey Jay!"

"Not now, Marty--"

"We gotta calibrate the diagnostic routines for the energy coils again and we don't have--"

"Later, Marty," I told him, not even breaking stride. I made a point to straighten up as I spun the wheel, then slugged back the last of the tarry grit that kept me wide awake and in the bathroom.

Thirty yards or so away, Nick stood with hands on hips, glaring at a fleshy-faced man with wire rim glasses and dark hair. Next to him was a severe-looking woman with shiny muscled arms covered in tattoos, and wavy brown hair controlled in a ponytail and under a ballcap. She was carrying a military issue assault rifle on her back, held in place by a leather strap that crossed between her breasts. Both of our visitors didn't look too happy to be stuck in our airlock's doorway. Briar came to me as I closed the distance.

"They refuse to leave their guns on the shuttle. After Nick undid his strap, they insisted on seein' somebody in charge."

I nodded, and fixed my glare on the man with the spectacles until our eyes met.

"There a problem, here?"

The man straightened up, his indignance radiating as he looked me over.

"My name's Royan Jahee. I was told I could pick up my shipment here. These…men won't let us board even though--"

His tone made a hot flash creep up into my cheeks. I leaned over him, catching Nick's smirk out of the corner of my eye.

"No one boards the Lady of Libron II armed. That's the way it is."

"This is an outrage, I want to speak to the Captain--"

"Knuckledraggers run this warehouse. You can either turn around and go back where you came, or you can have your guard here put up her hand cannon in your shuttle, and we can do business."

He sighed and shook his head. "Fine--fine!" He nodded to the muscled lady and she walked up their shuttle's ramp and disappeared inside. "Now, will you please get my shipment?" The way he snarled through his apparent bookish and soft-spoken demeanor reminded me of college, in some ways. Pseudo-intellectuals with rich parents lived out their breezy bohemian existences smoking cloves and reading each other's bad poetry--when not finding the cause of the week to prattle on about. He was just like them, the kind of guy girls dated so they wouldn't be lonely, but wouldn't have to worry about a guy who wanted sex a lot.

"You got the lot number? If you're supposed to be here you got a lot number, right."

His lips pursed as he reached in his back pocket. I probably reminded him of a big mean jock who beat him up in high school. This knuckledragger didn't mind.

I unfolded the piece of paper he handed me, revealing a pamphlet with a silhouette in red of man throwing himself through a ring, arms outstretched. Under it in matching bold letters it read: "Our cause will save mankind." Under that was the required lot number, scribbled in pen, but my eyes found the print underneath, and on the page next to it. Nick was a few lines ahead of me, leaning against my shoulder.

"Humans and Cylons can coexist in peace," He looked over to Jahee, who just nodded solemnly, as if Nick had echoed a sacred belief. "You're frakked in the head, pal. Last time I looked, the toasters want us dead."

I skimmed the paragraph under the scrawled number.

"Commander Adama would have you believe that he will save us," the print read. "But can one man claim to save the future of all mankind?" After that, the rhetoric unfurled into an unthinkable manifesto of surrender.

Jahee cleared his throat, as if knowing I was done reading his insane tract.

"Am I frakked in the head, uh, Nick," he asked, craning his neck to see Nick Sorg's name patch. "We're outnumbered by millions, yet Galactica and Pegasus have taken the offensive on an enemy we can never hope to defeat--"

"He's coverin' our butts. The toasters won't stop til we're dead."

"How would you feel if you had been enslaved for decades before--"

"That's enough. You're here to get your crate and get out," I said, handing the tract with the number to Briar. He passed it to Bobby who hopped into his forklift and went to retrieve the crate.

I couldn't stand any more. My head pounded worse than ever. Nick's face was already turning maroon, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of surrendering. He wasn't any closer to doing so than I was.

"How can you even think 'bout turning yourself over to those bastards? They nuked us! They--"

"They had known nothing but oppression and violence from humanity. It is no wonder they did what they did when they returned. It is up to us to show them…"

He prattled on, as Nick's eyes slid over to me, as if pleading for the ok to punch him in the mouth. Mercifully, his crate, a one-meter high by half-meter deep wooden box arrived.

"Super," I told Jahee. "It's here. Now Bobby can just roll on up to your shuttle and dump it inside the hatch. Then you can go can throw yourself on the mercy of the Cylons and leave us be."

Jahee nodded condescendingly to match his tone. "I wouldn't expect you to understand without more--"

"And I don't expect you to be here much longer. Now step aside and lemmie get this shit off my boat."

"Fine," Jahee snapped back. He was a temperamental little fellow for a peacenik. "but I want to check the goods first."

Check the goods? Nobody cracked open a box from Phelan on board this tub, even the customers who occasionally picked it up themselves. Then again, no one asked before, and Zenar had never said we couldn't look when the situation called for it. I wasn't about to look like a punk in front of Jahee. I gave the order to Bobby, who snapped up his prybar from under his lift's seat.

After the nailed lid popped, Jahee eagerly peeled it away, revealing clumps of plastic bubble packing. He picked up one fist-sized bundle and carefully unwrapped it to reveal a square chunk of plastic explosive with an attached timer. I didn't know much, but I knew it was military grade. Nick opened his mouth, but I glared at him, shaking my head. To my surprise he actually shut up. It wasn't our job to judge. We were Phelan's mules. We gave up our payload to the customer and that was that.

"This…this will do," he said with a gentle smile that made me want to vent the back of his skull with my pistol. "Thank you, gentlemen."

He extended his hand to me. I didn't return the favor. He rubbed his fingers together, then jammed the hand in his pocket.

"Please, do think about what we're all about, won't you?"

I couldn't find a rational reply to his insane notions. I gestured to Bobby.

"Load him up," I instructed, before leaving Royan Jahee to his pipe dreams of appeasement and a box full of war.

II

We were probably a stop-off point for just about every shipment of arms or anything that wasn't considered legal at one time or another. We knew that, so it was no big deal when I told Nick, Bobby, and Briar that it would stay between us until I said otherwise. If I could get Nick Sorg to agree with me 100 on anything, the plan had to be nearly perfect, right? Besides, technically, we weren't supposed to know what was in there, anyway. That still didn't sit well with me, though, as I showered the day's stink off me after dinner.

I felt safer putting weapons in the hands of gangsters than activist nuts. A gangster wanted money, and would only do what he needed to get it. Thugs that killed for fun didn't last long. Jahee, though, he had a cause. A bad feeling lodged itself in a dense ball at the bottom of my stomach. His convoluted notion of appeasement and surrender didn't make any sense. Sure, the thought of peace was nice, but thoughts didn't stop the bombs that fell or the basestars that lurked in the darkness.

I slid into a pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. A pack of cigarettes in hand, I decided to head up to the observation deck. If I was going to spend another night staring into the dark, I could at least have something to look at.

It almost seemed that I walked on air in my sneakers, compared to all day in my steeltoed boots. With any luck, the serene flow of the ships around us would make me sleepy, and I could shut my eyes and see something other than little kids and bombs leaving my airlock.

After that, my mind immediately reminded me that I had all the booze I could drink right downstairs. Why not? Nothing was wrong with increasing the odds of getting more than a power nap for the first time in weeks.

Marty, Bobby Kessey, Ed, and Candi all sat around the breakroom's table, playing triad under a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke. They all sat in either sweats, shorts, or robes, fresh out of the shower. Candi had her feet tucked up under her, hair wrapped up in a towel as she carefully eyed her hand. They were playing for tobacco--cigarettes mostly. Judging from the piles, Bobby was on a hot streak. He lit one from his stack, and Candi snorted.

"Hey, man, don't be smokin' my cigs."

Bobby raised an eyebrow and she laughed. "Yeah man. You're gonna lose 'em all to me. I feel a streak comin' on."

I paused outside the hatchway, watched them. Candi looked so damn young. Few could say they were dealt a worse hand in this fleet than she had, but it didn't show. She was still…a girl. Marty was barely two years older than she was, and there was barely any trace of the kid right out of high school who sniffled into his shirt, bawling after we jumped beyond the Red Line. He was younger, for sure, but nobody could really call him a kid any longer. I wondered how she could still do it after everything she had been through, just carry herself with so little weight.

Marty laughed himself, lighting up a cigarillo he pulled out of his bathrobe. "Yeah, you're gonna finally lose out and we won't have to listen to ya anymore."

Ed threw a couple cigarettes into the pot. "Alright, I'll see your two, Bobby, and call."

Candi had two pair, but that wasn't good enough against Marty, who had three on a run.

Eddy also had two pair with the kicker. He just shook his head and slid his cards over to Bobby for the next deal, as Marty made a point to neatly arrange his winnings in rows in front of him.

"Heh, you're right, Candi. About that streak. Losin' three hands in a row counts as a streak, don't it, Eddie?"

Ed and Bobby laughed as the forklift driver shuffled.

Candi sneered, the towel that wrapped up her hair fluttered a little at the very top as she shook her head.

"Kiss a dick, Marty. One hand isn't a streak, either."

Marty's glee wasn't shattered as the new hand was dealt.

"Yeah, when you first got here I saw your skinny ass and thought you had a dick."

Candi mock-giggled at him, her features twisting. "You probably wish I had a dick you faggot," she said, flipping him off.

The whole room erupted in laughter, and I decided to just leave them be. They were having fun, like we used to, like we should after a hard day on the lanes--and Candi was obviously blending in with her coworkers quite well.

I finally sat with my full tin cup on the bench, the stars and the fleet before me. Hopefully I wouldn't have to finish this entire cup of our drinkable rocket fuel. I had to be careful with this particular batch not to get my cigarette too close while I drank.

The white liquor burned going down, softly diffusing through me. With each drink, my smoke tasted a little better, and I lit another after sending the butt into the can.

I propped my feet up on the waste can, and slid back a little. Yeah, this would work. Every once in a while the viper patrol would zip by, maybe get funky and twist up and over the formation, then dive back down a click away. They were having fun protecting the fleet, and why not? Who says covering your own ass has to be so gloomy and serious all the time. I raised my cup to them, sipped again. Halfway down. It looked like I might have ended up finishing my cup. I had a warm, mellow buzz on. I wanted it to stay just like that. The last thing I needed was a hangover the next morning. Behind me, the hatch spun open. I didn't turn around. I figured it was Bobby coming back up to his rack.

"Hey, Jay," she said. What the hell was she doing here? I had trouble looking her in the face. It seemed she did, too. She was in a pair of baggy pyramid shorts, an overly large sweatshirt, and flipflops. "Is it okay if I sit down? I mean, if you want your space--"

"Where'd you find shorts that actually fit you?"

That was the buzz talking, for sure. What a great way for the boss to diffuse tension. She tilted her head, brow furrowed. Hell, I barely understood it and I asked.

"Um, I traded Ed a couple packs of smokes to keep an eye out. I guess he got 'em on a job."

I nodded, gestured for her to sit down. Her dry hair just laid down, long and straight over her shoulders, reaching the small of her back. She looked like a regular kid, just then, for the first time. You'd never have known she was a whore, or even a welder who told one of her fellow freighter jocks to kiss a dick. Someday I knew that I'd never see that again. I wondered if she even felt it, anymore, or if any sort of childhood was ripped away for good.

She gave me a small, tense grin. In the flash of her lighter I could see the cuts that Phelan's thug gouged in her neck with piano wire were almost gone, little pink bits of shiny flesh.

Candi dragged on her cigarette, looked down at the cup next to me.

I shrugged, slid it toward her with a finger.

She took a long pull of hooch, barely succeeding in holding back a coughing fit as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. I took another drink and we just sat for a time in silence, watching the last of us suspended in black. Occasionally the click of a lighter pierced the silence as we each ignited another smoke. I couldn't look at her. She would be dead if I would have turned my back on her, but I could barely look my woman in the face, and knew that others were suffering because of my kneejerk reaction, and the corner I backed myself into because of choices that I alone made.

I wondered what would have happened if I had called Diana first, and had a chance for her to relocate for a time until the wheels were set in motion. Maybe Candi could have lived, still, and everyone on this ship wouldn't have been at death's door. Then again, an accidental shuttle crash into the Lady in just the right spot around the fuel tanks could have been a genuine reality, too. Maybe Diana could have brought them down with the help of the military, but Candi and everyone aboard this tub would be dead because of me, then. Reality was that, so far, no one was dead. Just scores of children were being used for…something, anything. None of it was good. This was indeed the best-case scenario. No death, so far. Just irreparable damage to innocents. Hell, even the President and the Admiral motherfrakkin' Adama couldn't say they could make a hard choice that involved zero deaths!

"I think about it," Candi said, piercing the long silence. Her tiny voice made goosebumps creep up my arms. She stared, hardfaced into the darkness, jaw clenched. "I close my eyes, sometimes and I can see 'em. I wish I could just work without sleeping sometimes. I coulda just stayed on Cloud Nine, you know? And--"

"And you'd be a frakkin' jailbait hooker," I grunted. "It wasn't your choice it was mine. It's not your fault. Don't ever try and say it is."

She looked down at her hands, picking at a fingernail. "I…I just wonder if I'm worth it."

I looked over to her, until she gave me her eyes.

"Yeah."

She grinned weakly, shook her head. "I feel like I gotta carry this terrible thing with me for the rest of my life…and I know I can't tell anybody. It's frakked up. I'm around people every day and in this I'm carrying it all alone."

"No you're not."

I thought about maybe giving her a hug, but I wasn't her Daddy, and I wasn't the guy who used to sit here who was far wiser at this whole people management thing than I was.

I punched Candi in the arm. Not too hard, though. I doubted it even hurt, but it made her giggle, made me laugh too. Whatever she would remember for the rest of her life, laughter could perhaps be a part of it.


End file.
